Stormy Vows/Tempest at Sea (10 page)

At lunchtime she hurried to Doris Charles' apartment to check on Randy. Donovan had not exaggerated, she discovered when she let herself in at Doris Charles' shouted invitation. Randy had every possible necessity and amusement to keep the most pampered child in ecstasy. He greeted her with his usual
cheerful ebullience and then ignored her and went back to painstakingly linking a caboose to the cars of a brightly painted wooden train.

Doris, dressed in jeans and a plaid shirt, was sitting cross-legged on the floor beside him. She looked up with a wide grin as Brenna entered.

“Hi,” she said cheerfully. “This young man of yours is on his way to becoming a railroad tycoon. Before we're done, we may stretch from coast to coast. Care to join us?”

Brenna shook her head, her gaze lingering on the chubby romper-clad figure. “I only have a minute,” she said wistfully. “I just stopped to make sure that he was all right. Did he sleep well?”

“Like a top,” the nurse said serenely. “And he ate a breakfast this morning that would do justice to a lumberjack. I haven't been able to pry him away from all these toys, but as soon as he loses interest, I'll take him down to the pool to get some sun.

“He'll love that,” Brenna said smiling. “He's a real water baby.”

“I noticed that last night when I gave him his bath,” Doris said wryly. “He nearly drowned me!”

Brenna chuckled understandingly. “I've often been tempted to change into a bikini before tackling that particular job,” she admitted.

“Hey! I may just try that,” the nurse said, eyes twinkling. “Provided I survive our dip in the pool this afternoon.” Her gray eyes were kind as she went on gently. “It's always difficult when a mother is separated from her child for the first time. I want you to know that I'm taking the very best care of Randy, and he's adjusting very well.”

There was a suspicious moisture in Brenna's eyes and she blinked rapidly. “I'm sure he's doing a good deal better than I am,” she said huskily. “He's had considerable experience.”

“He's a perfect angel,” Doris said enthusiastically. “I'm going to miss him like crazy when this job is finished.” She cocked a sandy eyebrow quizzically. “You wouldn't need a permanent nanny by any chance?”

Brenna shook her head. “I'm afraid I couldn't afford you. I'm only just getting started. It will be some time before I can think about employing someone with your qualifications.”

The nurse shrugged. “You never can tell,” she said easily. “Keep me in mind, if your ship comes in.”

Brenna nodded. “I'll do that,” she replied lightly. She kissed Randy quickly, and then said reluctantly, “I have to leave now. Someone is waiting for me. I'll try to get back this evening in time for his dinner.”

“Fine,” Doris said cheerfully. “Whenever you have a little extra time, just call, and I'll bring Randy down to the cottage. I'll always advise reception where we are, if we leave the apartment.”

Brenna felt a little pang at the nurse's attitude, as if it were the most common thing in the world for a mother to make an appointment to see her own son. She smothered the illogical feeling at once. It didn't make sense to harbor such envy against Doris. She was a warm, competent person, and evidently got along famously with Randy. She was making the situation as easy as possible under the circumstances.

This didn't prevent Brenna from feeling a trifle dejected as she went to the cafeteria. She joined Monty, who poured her a cup of coffee from the carafe on the table. He watched silently as she absently took a sip, grimaced, and then reached for the cream.

“Something wrong?” he asked with a frown.

Brenna shook her head. “Not really. I'm just suffering withdrawal pains,” she said with forced cheerfulness. “Randy is having himself a ball.”

There was frank relief in Walters' face, as he said heartily, “That's great! Mr. Donovan told me this morning before he left that I was to make sure you weren't worrying about the kid.”

“Mr. Donovan has gone?” Brenna asked slowly, wondering why the news didn't bring the expected relief. After keying herself up in anticipation of an encounter with the man, she felt a real letdown when she realized her efforts had been totally unnecessary.

“He flew to London this morning,” Walters said casually. “There's some special effects genius he wants to recruit for the science fiction picture he's planning for next spring.”

“When will he be back?” Brenna asked, looking down at her coffee, her lashes veiling the interest in her eyes.

Walters shrugged. “Who knows? He has interests all over the world besides Donovan Ltd.” He glanced at his watch hurriedly. “I hate to rush you, Brenna, but you have an appointment with Simon Burke, Donovan's attorney, to sign your contract in fifteen minutes.”

Brenna pushed her cup away, and rose to her feet. “Then let's go,” she said cheerfully.

The rest of the day passed with the flickering acceleration of an old silent movie. After the contract was signed, Monty escorted her to wardrobe, where she was fitted for the outfits she was to wear in the scenes the following day. From there she was whirled to publicity where she gave a brief synopsis of her background, and was assigned an appointment to have still photographs taken for the publicity releases.

“I'll keep in touch,” Monty promised, as he let Brenna out at her cottage that evening. “Let me know if there's anything you need,” he said cheerfully. “And don't let Dominic work you too hard. He has the reputation of being something of a slave driver.”

In the weeks to come she was to look back with grim amusement at that warning from Walters. She soon discovered that she
had as much chance of following that advice as to change the path of a hurricane. Jake Dominic trampled over obstacles as if they did not exist. In his ruthless drive for perfection, he spared neither himself, his crew, nor the cast. Brenna found herself on an exhausting merry-go-round from six in the morning till eight in the evening, and sometimes even later.

Then she would hurry home and spend a few precious moments with Randy, before settling down to work on her lines and blocking for the next day's shooting. If the pace had not been so killing, she would have enjoyed the filming itself. All the members of the cast and the crew had a friendly professionalism that made them a pleasure to work with. And if Dominic was demanding, he was also both stimulating and inspirational. There was no limit to the help and time he was willing to extend to get the results he wanted. Her admiration for his ingenuity and directorial genius grew with every passing day, as the pressure mounted and Dominic labored to bring the film in on schedule.

Because most of the scenes still to be completed were those that had to be reshot with Brenna replacing Tammy Silvers, Dominic's demands were focused almost exclusively on Brenna. When she arrived back at the cottage, she was too weary to do anything but go over her lines and then fall into bed in total exhaustion. She was often too tired to bother to eat, and, always slim and fragile looking, her appearance soon became positively ethereal.

It was this fact that caused Dominic's tightly leashed temper to explode one morning with all the accompanying fireworks, just two days before production was due to be completed.

They had barely begun shooting that morning when he called a strident “cut.” He strode angrily toward Brenna, his face darkening ominously. “Wardrobe!” he bellowed furiously. “Dammit, get me someone from wardrobe! What the hell are they trying to do to me?”

Brenna stared at him in confusion as he took her by the
shoulders and spun her around swiftly, cursing steadily beneath his breath. “My God! They've made you into a damn caricature!”

Sandra Stafford, the dark, plump wardrobe mistress, scurried hurriedly onto the set, her eyes anxiously fixed on Dominic's angry face. “Mrs. Stafford,” Dominic said sarcastically, “perhaps you weren't aware that Miss Sloan is not supposed to be a holocaust survivor from a concentration camp, but a cosseted daughter of an affluent family.” His hand tugged angrily at a loose fold of material. “In short, Mrs. Stafford, her gowns are supposed to fit!”

The wardrobe mistress stared in horror at Brenna's green gown. Though Dominic's condemnation had been exaggerated, the gown was undoubtedly ill-fitting and cumbersome looking.

She cast a frightened look at Dominic's forbidding countenance and said nervously, “I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Dominic. We'll correct it right away.”

“In the interim the entire cast and crew sit around cooling their heels,” he said caustically.

A flush of anger tinted Sandra Stafford's cheeks pink, as she answered defensively. “I said I was sorry, Mr. Dominic, but it's not really wardrobe's fault. That gown was a perfect fit when we made the final alterations four days ago. Miss Sloan must have lost weight.”

“She's right, Jake,” Brenna put in quickly. “The dress did fit on Tuesday.”

Dominic's displeasure was immediately directed toward Brenna. Turning his back on the relieved wardrobe mistress, his dark eyes went over Brenna critically. “For God's sake, Brenna, you must have lost ten pounds in the last three weeks,” he said explosively, his black eyes flaming. “How irresponsible can you get! Didn't it occur to you that your appearance can't change from scene to scene?”

Brenna could feel the humiliating color rise in her face at
this public denunciation. She raised her chin defiantly. “I didn't do it on purpose,” she defended herself. “It just happened.”

“A stroke of fate, perhaps,” Jake said with intimidating softness. “Mother nature waves her magic wand, and you lose ten pounds.”

“I may have missed a few meals,” Brenna stammered uncomfortably.

“She skipped a few meals,” he said sarcastically. “May we inquire how many?”

“I don't remember,” Brenna said defensively, becoming angry in her turn. Surely this castigation wasn't necessary. “I told you I didn't do it deliberately.”

“Leave her alone, Jake,” Michael Donovan said lazily.

They both turned in surprise, squinting against the glare of the lights to see Donovan's familiar figure leaning indolently against a pillar in the far corner of the sound stage. Donovan's red hair burned like a dark flame in the dimness of the shadows as he straightened, and strolled causally forward. He was dressed informally, as usual, in a cinnamon brown shirt and fitted khaki slacks that explicitly molded the strong lines of his thighs.

“Well, well,” Dominic drawled sardonically, “the wanderer returns. When did you get home?”

“Last night,” Donovan said laconically.

She had forgotten how piercing those blue eyes were, Brenna thought with a shiver, as his mocking gaze examined her face with a familiar intimacy.

“Hello, Brenna.” he said softly.

“Good morning, Mr. Donovan,” she said with a composure she didn't really feel. It was only the surprise of seeing him so unexpectedly that caused that tingling warmth in her veins, she told herself stubbornly.

Donovan raised an eyebrow quizzically at her formality, and turned to Dominic. “You're in a foul mood, Jake,” he drawled. “I can't see that Brenna's done anything to deserve that serpent's
tongue of yours. You've obviously been working the girl to a shadow. You're going to have more problems than a few pounds weight loss if you don't let up. She looks almost breakable.”

“I'm quite well, Mr. Donovan,” Brenna said coolly.

To her annoyance both men blatantly ignored the interruption. “My God, Michael!” Dominic said harshly. “I have a picture to finish. What do you want me to do, set up banker's hours for the girl? You're the one who gave me the deadline for this film. Now it's my job to try and meet it.”

“You're quite right, I did set the deadline,” Donovan said coolly. “And I'm the one who can change it. Brenna needs a rest. Schedule her out of the shooting today.”

Brenna's eyes widened with shock, and she opened her mouth to protest, but Dominic was before her.

“Schedule her out of…” he repeated dumbfounded, then continued explosively, “And what do you suggest we do while Miss Sloan ‘rests'?”

Donovan shrugged. “Shoot around her, or give everyone a day's rest. You decide, Jake,” he said carelessly. “But make up your mind that whatever you do today, it's not going to involve Brenna.”

With a firm hand on her elbow he half led, half pushed Brenna ahead of him off the set, past the gaping crew, toward the door that led to the parking lot.

“What are you doing?” she hissed furiously. “There's absolutely nothing wrong with me, and I have no intention of going anywhere with you!”

“Be quiet, sweetheart,” Donovan said serenely. “You're going to do exactly what you're told, for once.”

“For once?” Brenna sputtered indignantly. “You've done nothing but order me around since the moment we met, Michael Donovan, and I have yet to get my own way.”

Donovan's blue eyes gleamed mischievously. “But then, neither have I, love,” he drawled meaningfully.

Brenna blushed fiercely, and tried futilely to wrest her arm from Donovan's iron grip, as they reached the door. “You can't come in here and just whisk me away, without so much as a by your leave to anyone,” she protested. “And just look at me. I've got to return this gown to wardrobe!”

He pushed her through the door, and strode quickly toward a sleek gray Mercedes, dragging Brenna along behind him.

“I can do anything I want to do,” he said coolly. “I own the place, remember? As for the gown, we'll stop at your cottage and you can change. I'll send someone over to pick it up after we leave.”

“Leave? Where are we going?” Brenna squeaked. “Wasn't the entire purpose of this abduction so that I could get some rest?”

“Certainly,” Donovan agreed blandly. “And I fully intend that you do just that. Which doesn't necessarily mean that I'm ordering you to bed—” he grinned innocently, “—at the moment.” He opened the passenger door and seated her carefully before closing the door and running around to slip behind the wheel. “I'm taking you away from all this, brown eyes,” he grated, in a passable Bogart imitation.

“And what if I don't want to be taken away?” Brenna asked archly, trying to smother the fugitive amusement that this new, lighthearted Donovan produced. How many facets were there to Donovan's complicated personality, she wondered helplessly. Each encounter with this human dynamo left her struggling helplessly out of her depth.